Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“You two are up bright and early,” Mom chirps, grinning over at us. “My sweet babies are driving now.”
I bite back the fact we should’ve been driving two years ago, but it’s not necessary to start wreaking havoc this early in the morning. Plus, my beef is mainly with Dad, not Mom. I’ll save my smart-ass comments for him.
“We’re going for coffee. I’m bringing stuff back for Willa and Tate. You want anything?” Gemma asks as she digs around in her purse for something. “I’ll need your credit card, though.”
I snort out a laugh and Mom smirks at me. Gemma always has an excuse to use our parents’ credit cards. I’m pretty sure the purse she’s wearing was one of those times.
“Nah,” Mom says with a chuckle. “Just use your account. If you need more money, text Dad.”
Texting Dad to refill our accounts between allowance time usually comes with a lecture about money management and responsibility. I would rather cut off my own foot with a pocket knife than have to sit through one of those. Apparently, Gemma feels the same.
“It’s fine,” Gemma grumbles. “I’m getting paid tomorrow for that ad I did for Sparkles Gems and Fine Jewelry.”
Gemma makes money, she just doesn’t like spending it.
“I’ve got you,” I assure my sister, even though we both know she’s got a shit ton more money than I do. “Since you’re letting me drive and all.”
Her grin is vibrant and blinding. “That’s why you’re my favorite brother!”
Mom waves at us as we head into the garage. Her Mercedes rarely sees the light of day since she’s mostly a homebody and rides everywhere in Dad’s car. I wonder if I can talk her into giving Gemma her car and I can keep the Tahoe for myself.
The twin connection must be buzzing with electricity because Gemma looks over at Mom’s car like it’s an aging minivan and says, “Ew, no. Never. It’s a mom car.”
We both crack up laughing as we climb into the vehicle. Dad pisses me off with this whole car shit, but this vehicle is nice. I’d love being able to drive it around all by myself and go wherever the hell I please. Maybe one day.
He’s been more bearable once I agreed to enroll at PMU. Of course he doesn’t know my reasons for doing it, but he was pleased nonetheless, which got him off my back.
The drive to town isn’t quiet. Gemma, the passenger princess, has already hooked her phone up to the stereo and is playing something obnoxious from her playlist. I’m able to tune it out because I have something better to think about.
Sloane.
Always Sloane.
That woman is never far from my mind. Last night, I drew what I thought she might look like with her shirt hanging down just low enough to expose her nipple. It was so fucking hot that I immediately jerked off, making a huge-ass mess. Shame had me deleting that artwork so fast off my device, though.
Who the hell does that?
Before I can make myself feel any worse than I already do, we’re pulling into the coffee shop that apparently the whole damn town loves. We decide to hit the drive-through rather than go in since it’s madness inside. When we reach the speaker to order, Gemma climbs across the console to yell out her three orders.
“Anything for you?”
A sudden impulsive thought comes to mind.
“Two caramel macchiatos,” I blurt out. “Please.”
Gemma frowns at me in confusion as she settles back into her seat. A nervous buzz of energy pulsates through me. I just ordered Sloane a drink. What now? I’m just going to show up and bring it to her?
Fuck.
And now Gemma is watching me with narrowed eyes, trying to use her twin powers to read my mind.
“It’s for Sloane,” I say to put us out of both our misery. “She likes the same thing as me.”
Gemma’s sculpted eyebrow hikes up her forehead. “Since when do we bring Mom’s bestie a coffee?”
I shift in my seat, avoiding her stare. “Since now. It’s called being nice.”
“Nice,” she repeats. “Interesting. You do remember she’s a cop, right?”
“Yeah, smart-ass. And I haven’t done anything wrong. We’ll drop it off on the way back home. Stop making it a big deal. It’s not a big deal.”
Oh, it’s a big fucking deal.
“None of my business,” she says, waving her manicured hand at me. “Carry on, Romeo.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I don’t satisfy her with an answer. She can assume I’m crushing on Sloane all she wants. It’s not like she’ll ever be validated with the truth. I’m not telling a fucking soul about this. Even Tate has tried to pry the information out of me and I won’t budge.
We pull up to the window where I pay and then fetch our crazy amounts of coffee. The girl at the window flirts with me, making sure to lean out the window to give me a nice view of her cleavage. I’m sure this works on most guys. Not this one. This one is still obsessing over the tits he drew last night.